


lubbock or leave it

by sparksfulltime



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksfulltime/pseuds/sparksfulltime
Summary: Let's do it again.
Relationships: Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman/Kim Wexler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	lubbock or leave it

The storage unit door squeaks as Jimmy hoists it up, one arm extending into the darkness inside as he roots around for the light switch. Kim squints, reaching out a hand to brace herself as she follows him and there’s a _click_ just as her palm connects with his back, both of them blinking against the light now illuminating the small space. The bulb buzzes above them as Jimmy cranes his neck around the disassembled bed frame in the middle of the concrete cell, peering towards the mattress propped on its side against the far wall.

Kim’s eyes are drawn to the box with “KITCHEN” messily scrawled on the side, the flaps jutting up unevenly as if someone had been recently rooting around inside and she has the urge to walk over and tuck them in, smooth the top into a neat package. It’s sitting atop a wooden butcher’s block and she has a sudden flash of memory of a hard edge pressing into her bare back, sunlight streaming through flimsy curtains, eggs burning on the stove. She unconsciously straightens her spine, bringing her hand up to rub the phantom spot, thumb digging into her hip bone.

Jimmy is paying her no mind, maneuvering around a chair with bamboo arms, picking up a lamp to peek behind a pile of boxes. There’s a triumphant grunt as he reaches an arm around the cardboard, metal rattling together as his hand re-emerges clutching a pair of crutches.

“And we need these, right?” Kim asks, hand falling from her hip as he approaches.

“Oh, we _need_ these,” Jimmy stresses, placing a crutch under each arm and gracelessly hobbling towards her, the tips making a _clack_ sound each time they hit the cement floor. 

“Why do you even have a pair of crutches in your storage locker?” She asks and he grimaces as he comes to a stop, knuckles flexing on the hand grips.

“Occupational hazard.” He holds them out to her and she blinks at him once, twice before intuiting his meaning, keeping her expression blank, his face similarly set as an unspoken game of chicken passes between them.

She reaches out and takes the crutches from his grasp, balancing both under one palm.

“Should we get a brace, too?”

// 

They stop at a Walmart thirty minutes outside of Albuquerque, Jimmy holding up novelty shirt after novelty shirt as Kim shakes her head at each one. 

“Alright, we’re running low on options here,” he places the Darth Vader design back on the table, picking up a blue cotton shirt. “Oh, wait.”

He holds the Jimmy Buffet shirt up against his chest. “ _If you like piña coladas_ ,” he sings, pinched fingers shimmying the fabric as he starts to sway his hips from side to side. “ _And getting caught in the rain..._ ”

She tilts her head, amused, and an older woman with a grey bob pushes her cart through a nearby aisle, watching Jimmy croon his way through the chorus. She looks to Kim, smiling conspiratively as she passes, and Kim wonders what she thinks she sees when looking at the two of them.

“Regretfully, I think this is it,” she concedes, cutting Jimmy off from the next verse, and he pumps his fist, tossing the shirt into the cart where it lands next to a printed diaper bag and a package of baby formula. 

He makes his way to the sunglasses display next to the fragrance counter and gives the rack a spin, waiting for it to slow before grabbing the loudest pair and pushing them onto his face. Waggling his fingers at the adjacent display, he selects a matching red strap and twirls it in the air, fabric flying around his pointer finger. 

The shopping cart wheels rattle as Kim pushes them forward to follow, her flats slapping against the linoleum. “We have everything, right?”

“Oh, no,” Jimmy turns, eyebrows raising over the wrap-around sunglasses, walking backwards towards the wall of sandals on the other side of the aisle. “One final touch.”

//

Her hands grip the steering wheel at nine and three, mid-afternoon sun rising off I-40 in waves, road stretching out ahead as the flat planes of the desert fly by on either side of the car. Kim can hear the muted _thunk_ of the blueprint carrying case rolling around in the trunk and she takes a deep breath, pushing her back against the seat as she loudly exhales.

Jimmy looks over from the passenger seat, fingers drumming against his thigh to the music, and reaches out to turn down the radio.

“Have you given any thoughts to the name?” 

“What?” Kim asks, eyes flitting to the radio and quickly over to Jimmy before looking back at the road.

Jimmy waves a hand towards her abdomen, “Bundle of joy. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Oh,” she says, elbows relaxing as she rolls her head around on her neck. “Boy. Single mom of a boy feels more vulnerable than a single mom of a girl.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs thoughtfully, but she can hear the admiration in his tone. “May I suggest James?”

“You may not,” she volleys back brightly, tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth. 

“What about...” Jimmy trails off, gaze unfocusing past Kim out of the driver’s side window. “Dylan?”

Kim shakes her head. “Ugh. That’s just a third-year associate with a Rolex in diapers.”

“Jordan?” He offers. “Logan? Cade?”

Kim’s laugh ricochets out of her mouth unexpectedly, leather seat creaking as she leans her torso forward. “ _Cade_? Is that even a name?”

“Why not?” He smiles broadly, arms extending out to his sides. “We can go as wild as we want here.”

“These are all awful.”

“I know, right?” Jimmy says, rubbing his hands together, and her lips curl up into a tight smile. 

They think in silence for another moment, and then Jimmy snaps his fingers.

“What was the name of Stef’s nephew?” He says, stretching his seatbelt in order to turn his body towards her. “That story she was telling at the party? About the candy canes?”

“Uhhh...” Kim is genuinely at a loss, eyes darting from side to side as she tries to wrack her brain for Stef ever having mentioned a nephew.

“Aiden!” He says loudly, triumphantly; then lowers his voice to repeat himself. “Aiden. That’s a sturdy, ambitious name for a sister-doing-it-for-herself.”

“Aiden,” Kim rolls the syllables around in her mouth. “Yeah. That’s good, actually. Unique, but not _too_ out of left field for a banking lawyer.”

Jimmy reaches out to turn the radio back up, satisfied, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back into the seat.

Genuine, silly delight overrides some of the nervous energy that’s been building since they got in the car, a spark of the thrill she’s been chasing since Judge Munsinger delivered Huell Babineaux’s verdict licking at her like paper catching flame, her insides curling up in anticipation of combustion.

She briefly looks over at Jimmy’s profile and feels a twinge in her chest over how well they play off of each other, the way they each manage to balance out the scale. When she had pulled into that parking lot last week and lit up a cigarette outside of his potential new office, she had been thinking about Mesa Verde, of course; but also about their first office on Montaño, about the doodles she found on his notepad all those months ago, about Wexler and McGill.

She remembers her original proposal, about how she told him _you do things your way, and I do them mine_.

Jimmy notices her glances and turns his head to grin at her, tapping his foot along to the music.

She drives.

// 

The story sits rigidly in Kim’s mind like a script ( _sprain, 8-month-old, brother_ ) as she hobbles up to the desk, but as soon as she opens her mouth, the lies flow out as naturally as breathing. Sprain, 8-month-old, brother. She nonchalantly weaves in pieces of backstory between the kind city hall employee’s questions, sharing just enough information to seem conversational, prompting exactly what she wants in response. 

She tugs on the hem of her blouse ( _No, leave it untucked,_ Jimmy had said, stalling her wrist from the passenger’s seat. _It’s good._ ) as Shirley pulls back the cover page to inspect her copy, looking from one to the other, and Kim’s laugh of relief when the plans are pronounced identical is a release of pure adrenaline. Jimmy comes bumbling around the corner at her signal, flip-flops slapping and sliding for purchase on the marble floor.

Kim has to over-exaggerate her shocked reaction in order to not laugh in his face when he says _Wrangler_ , specific details coming together as they spar in the moment, the awareness of an audience creating a warm, fizzy sensation that settles low in her belly. 

They pass each other in an empty hallway as she makes her way back to the desk, and Jimmy brushes his palm against her back, mouth skimming over her ear for only a moment as he hums his approval and keeps moving.

Kim’s heart skips a beat when she slides the second set of plans out of the carrying case, doing her best to not jostle the scrolls together, her anxious breaths only half-put on as she unrolls the new copy onto the table. Shirley is all too eager to help and Kim plays grateful well, years of practice converging into this one moment as she demures. _Are you sure? Okay, if you’re sure. Okay. Thank you so much._

Her breaths begin to slow when the _thwack_ of the stamp hits paper, jaw setting as her eyes flit up to Shirley’s face, and Kim smiles.

//

She feels giddy speeding out of the parking lot, right hand coming to rest on Jimmy’s thigh as her left hand grips the wheel, body leaning into the turn as they ease back out onto the road. The fingers of Jimmy’s left hand settle in between hers, the fabric of his shorts rucking up under their stacked knuckles.

Kim catches light after light, route taking them in the opposite direction of the highway, and she feels Jimmy’s curious glances but keeps her eyes on the road, scanning back and forth before she sees the church up ahead and makes a sharp left turn, tires squealing as she cuts across the opposite lane of traffic.

The windows of the chapel are dark, early sunset beginning to reflect in their panes as Kim pulls around and into the parking lot behind the building, empty save for the lone dark blue Pontiac in the spot closest to the back door. She carelessly angles her own car through multiple empty spots and throws it into park, the buckle of her seat belt knocking against the door frame as she whips it off and leans across her seat, grabbing Jimmy’s face with both hands and kissing him soundly.

He makes a surprised noise against her mouth, both hands flying into the air before coming to rest on her shoulders then slowly sliding down her upper arms, gripping her biceps and working to tug her closer. 

Kim clumsily shifts her weight, the ankle brace catching on her seat as she attempts to hurl her left leg over the center console and she lands with one knee between Jimmy’s legs, head knocking against the ceiling as she steadies herself against his chest with both palms. 

They’re both breathing heavily as she looks down at him and her fingers move to curl around the edges of his stupid sunglasses strap, lightly fingering the red band. His eyes wander up and he huffs out a laugh, clasping her wrists to guide her gently across the front seat, knees squeaking against the leather as she settles into his lap. At the same time, one of his hands comes up to brush the top of her head and a tingle of static electricity shivers through her, his palm delicately smoothing blonde strands away from the ceiling.

She grips the back of his neck and pulls them together again, this time stroking her tongue into his mouth, tilting her head to try to close as much distance between them as possible. The spark she felt earlier that afternoon now seems to be igniting throughout her extremities, and she feels hyper-aware of each individual nerve in her body as Jimmy’s hands come to rest on her thighs.

She guides his hand up her skirt, ignoring his smug look when he slides a finger into her underwear, burying her face into the side of his neck as she begins to move with him towards her final, combustive release.

//

Jimmy drives the last hour back to Albuquerque, windows open to the sounds of traffic whooshing by, the occasional radio tune crescendoing and then fading as another pair of tail lights vanishes ahead of them into the night. Kim has her feet tucked up under her thighs as she leans against the door, hair whipping lightly around her face as she closes her lips around a cigarette. 

(She tries not to make a habit of smoking in her car; but then again, she’s tried not to make a habit of a lot of things lately.)

She’s comfortably full after their stop at the diner, the day’s high melting into a dull buzz of caffeine and nicotine coursing through her bloodstream. She shifts to lean her elbow out the window, blowing smoke and watching the wind immediately carry it backwards; closing her eyes and imagining her exhalation floating in the air above the highway, suspended in stasis as the car continues onward.

With every passing freeway sign, Lubbock’s mental file slips further closed and she reluctantly begins to see tomorrow’s tasks in her mind’s eye: Prep for next week’s Mesa Verde meeting, get the most up-to-date notes to Marcie, buy wrapping for Jimmy’s reinstatement gift. The thought of watching him open the monogrammed briefcase feels like a balm against the rest of the monotony, and she settles her head against the window trim, eyes still shut.

She’s eager to see him practice law again, impatient for some return of the spark that has dimmed in his eyes over the last year, but she’s also self-indulgently craving an old, careful balance. Her track has felt like it’s moving too quickly lately, each turn bringing her teetering close to the edge of the rail; and while she’s never had any problem righting herself, the next junction seems to approach ever more rapidly, keeping her off-course, beginning to unhinge.

Yet all the more unnerving has been the humming under her skin that has grown increasingly louder over the last few weeks, the one that howled as she came apart under Jimmy’s hands earlier in a church parking lot, screaming at her to let herself fall.

She hears her own voice in her head again: _We’ll know it when we see it._

“You asleep?”

Kim opens her eyes and Jimmy is peering at her from the driver’s seat, eyes flickering between her face and the lit cigarette in her hand.

She takes one last drag, flicking the butt out the window as she gazes ahead to the Sandias looming just beyond the streetlamps, leading them home.

“No, I’m with you.”


End file.
